Chapter 1 #2
Caroline McGuire balanced a small cardboard box on her hip and shoved the brand-new key into the lock. The deadbolt clicked. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked and the smell of fresh paint and new drywall greeted her.
Moving into a small apartment above a clothing store and working in the same clinic where she’d had all her well-child checkups, sports physicals, and X-rays sounded like her worst nightmare.
But she’d taken the job because it was her only offer. So now she’d smile through the pain. Pretend this was exactly what she wanted. Because there was no way she’d admit to her family that she didn’t want to be here.
Her mom stopped behind her in the hallway, carrying a plastic bin filled with cleaning supplies. “Oh, look at those windows,” her mom said, squeezing her shoulder. “You are going to be so happy here.”
“Yeah, so happy.” Caroline stepped inside, letting the box drop to the floor with a soft thud. She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her denim shorts and opened the notes app where she kept her never-ending to-do list.
“Are you taking a picture of your empty apartment?” Mom scooted past her and crossed to the windows. “Come check out this view, hon.”
“I’m adding ‘measure for curtains’ to my list of things to do.”
“Oh, don’t buy any,” Mom said. “We have five bins of fabric in storage. I’ll make you some.”
Caroline hesitated. Homemade curtains were not exactly what she had in mind.
Bright sunlight poured through four huge windows overlooking Redemption’s Main Street.
Outside, baskets of petunias hung from the new lampposts, their purple, pink, and white blooms spilling over the sides.
People wandered along the sidewalks, stopping to chat in front of the Copper Kettle coffee shop, where the doors stood propped open.
A sandwich board near the entrance advertised Mocha Moose Tracks in chalky blue letters.
Caroline’s chest tightened. It was a perfect May Saturday, but the unease twisting in her stomach wouldn’t let her enjoy it.
Her sneakers squeaked against the ash-gray luxury vinyl plank flooring as she crossed the room to survey the rest of the space.
A granite-topped counter with space for two stools—maybe three if she bought basic ones—separated the kitchen from the living area.
She peeked inside the stainless-steel fridge to make sure it had been turned on.
Cool air soothed her flushed face. Exposed wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and the gas fireplace tucked into the far wall added a cozy touch.
It was a great apartment. A great opportunity.
So why did it feel like a consolation prize?
Her mom set down the cleaning supplies in the middle of the empty room and crossed to the half bath situated just off the kitchen. “I doubt the people working in the sporting-goods store will get too rowdy, so it should be nice and peaceful for you.”
“Yeah, and Redemption Outfitters isn’t opening for another couple of weeks, so I’ve got plenty of time to get settled.” Caroline forced a smile when her mother came out of the bathroom. “Come on, let’s go help the guys with those boxes.”
They headed down the stairs, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the narrow walls, and pushed through the heavy door at the bottom.
Out on the sidewalk, her dad sat in his wheelchair, offering tips as her brothers Ethan and Luke unloaded the pod that had been shipped from Seattle.
They wore jeans, T-shirts, and work gloves, sweat gleaming on their foreheads under the midday sun.
“Wow, look at you,” a woman’s voice chirped.
Caroline froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned. “Hi, Mrs. Dawkins.”
The older woman stood on the sidewalk in a leopard-print cardigan that hung to her knees, a beige T-shirt, and faded black jeans. Her black slip-on shoes were scuffed, and her curls—springy and almost entirely white—framed her face like a halo.
“Did you just come from the salon?” Caroline grabbed a box from the neat stack Ethan had created beside Dad’s chair.
Mrs. Dawkins patted her hair and grinned, revealing a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. “I sure did! How could you tell?”
Caroline forced herself to keep her voice light. “Oh, just a feeling. It looks good. How are you?”
Mrs. Dawkins’s smile faded, her expression shifting to something sharper. “Well…I’m a wee bit concerned.”
Caroline’s pulse quickened. She braced herself.
“You’ve got big shoes to fill,” Mrs. Dawkins said, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “If Dr. Wallace is really retiring, are you sure you’re up for it? Lots of folks think you’re a little…well, a little too new, sweetie.”
A hot flush climbed Caroline’s neck, burning her ears. She could feel her family watching, their silence amplifying her humiliation. Her dad’s disapproval radiated toward Mrs. Dawkins like heat off asphalt.
Caroline cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet Mrs. Dawkins’s gaze. “I graduated near the top of my class. I’m board-certified. I’ve done all my clinicals and gained a ton of experience. Everybody has to start somewhere, right? But I think I’ll manage.”
Mrs. Dawkins scraped at a pebble on the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe, her mouth pinching into a tight line. “I guess we’ll see. Have a great day.”
Caroline exhaled as Mrs. Dawkins turned and shuffled away.
Her mom leaned in and whispered, “It would’ve been nice if she’d offered to carry a box or three.”
“Actually,” Caroline said, “I don’t want that woman inside my apartment. Ever.”
Her mom gave her an encouraging pat on the back. “You handled that well, dear.”
Oh, she wasn’t so sure. The words clung to her, heavy and sticky.
There would always be skeptics here. People who doubted her.
And she certainly didn’t need anyone to point out that it had taken her three attempts to get into PA school.
Redemption loved its second chances, but it loved its judgment even more.
She drew a deep breath, shook off the awkward encounter, then carted her box toward the stairs.
She was halfway up when her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her shorts. Setting the box down at her feet, she swiped to answer. “Hey, Tate. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem,” her brother said.
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“One of our guests fell on the trail and he’s hurt pretty bad. I tried calling Doc Wallace, but he’s not answering. I’ll call 911 if you want me to, but…do you think you could come take a look first?”
“Of course.” She didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”
She ended the call and carried the box back to the sidewalk. “Bad news. I need to run over to the resort. Can you carry this up for me?”
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked, his brow furrowed.
“Someone’s injured. Tate asked me to check it out.”
“What about Doc Wallace?” Dad rolled his chair closer. “He’s good about coming by whenever we need him.”
Ouch. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Caroline swallowed back the terse words. “He didn’t answer his phone. When I saw his wife at the post office yesterday, she said he was going fishing today.”
Mom took a bottle of water from the portable cooler she’d brought along. “But I thought you didn’t start until Monday?”
“You’re right, my official start date is Monday, but that doesn’t matter. If someone needs help, I’m not going to blow off Tate’s request.”
Luke tossed her his keys. “Take my truck. Your medical bag is still in back.”
“Thanks.” She caught them, then hurried down the street to where he’d parked.
Caroline climbed into the driver’s seat of Luke’s truck, double-checked that her bag was still wedged behind the passenger seat, then started the engine. She adjusted the rearview mirror, checked for traffic, and pulled out onto Main Street.
Redemption unfolded around her like a postcard, picturesque and vibrant.
Sunlight shimmered off the bay to her right.
Emerald green water rippled in the breeze.
Two kids stood on the sidewalk in front of the bank, licking ice cream cones that were already melting.
One of them tilted his cone too far, and a chocolate scoop plopped onto the pavement.
He froze, staring at it for a moment before bursting into laughter, his friend joining in.
On the bike path that ran parallel to the road, a couple pedaled bicycles.
A golden retriever on a leash trotted beside them, its pink tongue lolling.
The scent of fresh-cut grass drifted through the open window as she passed a roadside park where a man walked with a tiny, energetic dog on a neon green leash.
The dog barked at a flock of seagulls that had gathered near a picnic table, scattering them into the air.
Wildflowers bloomed along the edges of the road, splashes of yellow, purple, and white standing out against the deep green underbrush. In the distance, mountains rose up from the sea, their peaks capped with patches of snow that hadn’t yet melted.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her thoughts spinning as she turned onto the gravel road that led to the resort.
The crunch of the tires on the loose stones was a familiar sound, one that tugged at memories of growing up here—lazy summer afternoons exploring the trails, bonfires in the field, and the way the air always smelled like pine and saltwater.
But today, none of that offered comfort.
Her stomach churned as she replayed Tate’s words in her mind.
Someone was hurt. Badly. And it was on her to help.
Sure, she’d been trained for this, but this was different.
This wasn’t a clinical rotation under a mentor’s watchful eye. This was real, and it was all on her.
As she approached the resort’s main building, she spotted clusters of guests outside.
A family gathered at one of the picnic tables on the lawn.
Three kids played with a Frisbee while the adults unpacked a cooler.
Two young couples unloaded luggage from the back of an SUV, their friendly banter filtering toward her.
Caroline parked the truck in the closest open spot and grabbed her bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she hurried toward Tate, waiting for her with an ATV parked near the end of the building. “He’s on the trail by the ridge. Something’s stuck in his leg.”
Caroline’s chest tightened as she climbed onto the ATV behind him. “Who is he? Do we know?”
“Elite athlete. He’s here filming a commercial. Guess he decided to go for a run.”
When they reached the ridge, Caroline grabbed her bag and hurried toward the injured man.
He lay sprawled in the dirt at the base of the embankment, his body twisted at an awkward angle.
A jagged stick jutted from his thigh. Blood trickled from the wound and soaked the fabric of his shorts.
Dust clung to his skin, and bits of grass and dirt marred a scrape along his left arm.
His Camelbak lay on the ground beside him, and the drinking tube rested on his shoulder. His T-shirt was damp, and his shoes, which looked expensive, were scuffed. His chest rose and fell rapidly and he grunted. Grunting, he flung his arm across his forehead. Was he in shock or just agony?
Then her eyes locked onto his, and everything inside her froze. No, it couldn’t be. The last time she’d seen him, he’d made a hasty exit out of her life in Colorado.
Well, he wasn’t running today.
“Jude,” she whispered.
His stormy hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers, pain darkening their depths.
“You’re the last person I expected to see,” he said, his voice tight. Chagrin rippled across his pinched features.
Her resolve faltered, her memory replaying a montage of how he’d looked at her that night in Colorado. And the way his lips had brushed against hers, slow and deliberate. She also remembered the silence that had followed. For days, weeks, and months.
“Yeah, well—” She hesitated. “I’m your best hope right now.”
His eyes lingered on hers. Something unspoken flickered behind them. An apology, maybe? Or regret?
It didn’t matter. Her hands shook as she tugged on her disposable gloves. She’d already learned the hard way that Jude was lousy at apologizing.